Tells
by K Hanna Korossy
Summary: A Little Slice of Kevin tag: Castiel sees some truths about the Winchesters that they themselves don't, or won't. Like that they're both being morons.


**Tells**  
K Hanna Korossy

He'd volunteered to do the food run because Cas still looked like a stiff breeze could blow him over, and Sam was…well, actually not being a bitch the last few days, which was both great and totally not suspicious. But, truth of the matter? Dean was ready for a break from both of them.

Dean pulled the Impala—and having her back was one of the most awesome parts of returning from Purgatory, swear to God—into a motel parking spot two doors down from their room, put her in Park, then sagged back in his seat. He wasn't especially looking forward to returning.

Yeah, okay, so Cas setting his memories straight about what really went down in Purgatory was a relief. The guilt of thinking he'd left his friend behind because he hadn't tried hard enough had been eating at him and… _maybe_ …had made it easier to stay mad at Sam. It helped to know he'd done everything he could to get Cas out. What didn't help so much was knowing Cas had chosen to stay behind on purpose. Or the still not knowing how he'd gotten out.

And then there was Sam, and the minefield he and Dean were camping in these days.

Dean sighed, feeling…well, how old was he, anyway, Hell years and all? Whatever it was, he felt way older than that. Who knew he'd ever miss the simple days when all they had to deal with was monsters at every stop and the loss of Jess and their dad?

The chicken wasn't getting any warmer, and sitting out in the car like a moody teen was just pathetic. Squaring his shoulders, Dean grabbed the bucket and bag off the seat next to him and got out of the car.

It was a warm night, and they'd all stunk of sulfur after their raid on Crowley's stronghold, so Sam had opened the windows before Dean left. They were still ajar, and the sound of voices from inside the room made Dean's steps slow and then stop when he got close.

 _"…to eat, like, biology stopped working there."_ Sam.

Cas answered. _"He was correct. He did not require food nor rest, and his hair and nails did not grow."_

Nothing he and Sam hadn't talked about before. Dean reached for the door.

 _"But didn't you guys get tired? I mean, not like needing sleep, but, just, you know, being done in?"_

Dean stopped again.

 _"We did take rest breaks on occasion,"_ Cas said quietly. _"But being in Purgatory is oddly…impeling. Avoiding death is a powerful motivator."_

 _"Yeah, I can imagine."_ Sam paused. _"Dean said it was…'pure.'"_

A beat. _"I don't understand."_

 _"I guess he meant you always knew what to do, who the monsters were. Not like here, where things can get…complicated."_

Dean swallowed. It was true. And he knew Sam knew _he_ was one of those complications for Dean.

 _"Ah. Yes. Dean did seem in his element. He is a most…efficient hunter."_

Dean's gut twisted.

 _"But he never stopped striving to get home, to return to you, Sam."_

Sam was quiet for a long moment, and Dean would've given good money to see his face. As it was, fist curled inches from the door and head bowed, Dean waited.

 _"He had Benny,"_ Sam finally said, low enough that Dean had to strain to hear.

He yanked his hand back from the door.

 _"The vampire. Yes, he was an unexpected ally. But…you're not suggesting he took your place?"_

Dean shook his hanging head a bare inch.

 _"Actually, I know he kinda took my place, at least there."_

There was a rustle of cloth, as if Cas had moved. From the way his voice changed, Dean guessed he'd stood up. _"I fail to understand this constant doubt the two of you feel about each other. Do you really question that Dean would do anything to return to you?"_

 _"No, but—"_

 _"And would you not have done anything in your power to retrieve your brother if you'd known where he was?"_

Dean was moving before he thought about it. He banged on the door, announcing, "Food!"

He wasn't sure himself if it was because he knew Sam would say "yes."

00000

There was much going on here Castiel did not understand. Which wasn't an unusual situation in itself; humans were still more confusing than not, no matter how much he learned. But he'd spent enough time with the Winchesters that he usually understood them, at least. So it was…frustrating to feel as if he were with strangers rather than his two closest allies.

He looked at Dean in the front seat, staring straight ahead, not playing what he called "music" nor cracking jokes. That alone would have told Castiel something was off with his friend. The quick glances he stole at Sam explained the source of his disquiet. What Castiel did not comprehend was the _why._ Simply because Sam had grieved and left his brother to what he believed was peaceful rest instead of searching him out in Purgatory? Did he not know Sam's pain even if Sam hid it?

And Sam, equally quiet and fascinated by the road. There was a slump to his shoulders that spoke of dismay, perhaps guilt, but also a set to his jaw that was obstinate and certain. And he cast furtive looks over at Dean when his brother was unaware. Adamant that he had chosen correctly, but unwilling to admit the depth of loss that Dean would have understood. The…"mixed messages," as Castiel believed they were called, were very mixed and baffling indeed.

"Take 275 to Waterloo," Sam spoke up as they passed a street sign.

Dean nodded.

Castiel was tempted to a human sigh.

This "hunt" they were on at least made sense. Meteorological signs, omens, and a gathering of power indicated a significant demonic presence, and while he didn't quite have Dean's Purgatory predatory drive, Castiel was more than happy to smite some of the Enemy's forces. That, at least, he knew was a right thing to do. There was also the odd feeling of import to staying with the Winchesters, but perhaps that was finally the development of some measure of human intuition. Dean had said more than once that would be a useful commodity to acquire.

"Jefferson Street?" Dean inquired.

"Yeah. Should be about a half-mile down on the left."

Castiel's eyes moved between the two brothers, waiting for some inappropriately light-hearted comment about what they were about to do or some mockery of each other's capabilities, but nothing came.

He found himself uncharacteristically opening his mouth instead. "It is regretful that this battle is located in a place called Waterloo." He attempted a smile to go with the jest.

The men in the front seat looked at each other, then Sam turned to face him while Dean regarded him in the mirror. "Did you hear something on Angel Radio, Cas?" he asked.

"You mean because of Napoleon?" Sam said instead.

"Yes," Castiel responded to him, still smiling.

"Napoleon? The short dude or the pastry?" Dean asked.

"The short—The French general," Sam said.

Dean divided his attention between his two passengers. "What does a demon hunt have to do with a dead French guy?"

Castiel let the slipping smile go. "Waterloo. It was where—"

"I think Cas was joking," Sam interjected.

"Oh. Oh?" Dean was looking at him in the mirror again.

Castiel shrank down in his seat. "I—Yes."

"Huh." Dean's eyebrows rose and fell, the equivalent of a shrug, Castiel had observed, then he was pulling the car up in front of a partially completed building. "This the place?"

Castiel did sigh in his head, then focused on the building. He didn't have to for long. "Yes. There is significant power here."

"Awesome," Dean said in a way that indicated the opposite. "Okay, we go in loaded for bear: demon bombs, holy water, Sam, you've got the knife, Cas has his…hand…"

"And my sword," Castiel pointed out.

"And his sword."

"Why are we searching for a bear?"

"AND, everyone's got their flasks?" Dean looked them both in the eye. "Sam, exorcism cued up?"

"Check, and check." Sam craned to see the whole of the several-floor unfinished building. "Too bad we couldn't get in there first to put down a few traps."

"We'll just have to make do. Everyone set?"

Castiel nodded when Sam did. Then the three of them disembarked from the car, stopping at the trunk for Sam and Dean to further arm themselves.

As they headed toward the building, Sam in the lead, Castiel said quietly to Dean, "I'm not certain of our purpose on this hunt—is it just to kill the abominations, or are we attempting to get information on the demon tablet's location?"

"Unless Crowley's in there, I don't think anyone's gonna know where the tablet is," Dean answered just as quietly, but from the tilt of Sam's head, Castiel knew he also heard and was listening. "This is just a bag-and-tag."

Castiel frowned. "So the answer is…"

Dean raised his eyes heavenward for a moment. "Kill 'em all, Cas. The answer is, a few less demons is always a good thing."

"Understood."

"I just wanna get us back in the swing of things, you know? Do a shakedown."

Castiel wasn't certain what swinging or shaking had to do with demon hunting, but the context seemed to indicate Dean wanted the three of them to work together again, and Castiel did understand that. Battle bonded soldiers into brothers, and perhaps brothers into friends. He nodded, letting the angel sword he carried slide into his hand from his sleeve as they approached the open doorway.

The building inside was barely more than a skeleton, unfinished walls and rough wooden stairs giving structure to the building without real solidity. Already Castiel could see some movement between two walls one floor up, and at a silent nod from Dean, he went to investigate.

The battle was quickly engaged. There were more demons than expected, many foot soldiers rather than a few lieutenants, and Castiel remained busy for some time seeking out and destroying the enemy. One knocked him through a wall onto a floor below, but that was nothing to him, and he was quick to regain the upper hand. Twice he heard the Winchesters call to each other, but he could not discern what they said nor go to their aid.

It was, by his count, after the sixteenth demon he destroyed that he finally found himself alone. Castiel stretched out his senses, seeking for more dark power, and felt the only remains on a floor beneath him. He disappeared from his battlefield, reappeared on the edges of the next one, and took in the situation.

Dean stood in a corner of a large space, literally and metaphorically: three demons faced him, holding him at bay. A fourth stood in the center of the room, and it was from him that the strongest darkness emanated: the leader. And behind him…Sam. On the floor. Wrapped in…something.

"He hasn't got much time left," the head demon was saying, his voice a nightmare to match his true face. A smile mocked his human skin with sharp, red teeth humans would not see but angels could too easily. "Tell me where the Prophet is, and I'll let your brother go."

Dean shifted, his face a murderous if human mask. "I already told you, you son of a bitch, I don't _know_ where Kevin is. Neither of us do—that's kinda the point of _hiding_. But what I do know is, if you don't let Sam go, you're not gonna care about Kevin or anything else after this."

Castiel moved silently to see what Dean was referring to while still staying out of the leader's sight. And felt his anger burn hot.

Sam wasn't just restrained. He was wrapped in a layers of something clear—plastic? It wound around and around him, from his feet up to his hair. And over his face like a grotesque second skin, his mouth wide as he tried fruitlessly to pull in air. He writhed, tearing at his bindings, but without success. He was suffocating.

"Tick-tock, Dean," the demon said relentlessly.

Sam stared at his brother. Dean stared back at him, anguish and fury flowing so powerfully from him that Castiel could sense it even without seeing his face.

Sam mouthed something to Dean. And then he sagged to the floor, motionless. The plastic was too tight to allow his eyes to close, but they lost focus. Lost life.

With a bellow, Dean threw himself at his guards, a suicide attack. And just the opening Castiel needed.

He appeared just behind the leader. Even as the abomination sensed him and turned, Castiel was already burning it out of its host. He quickly moved on to the one about to impale Dean. Finishing it off, he turned just in time to see Dean dispose of the second of the two left.

Dean didn't waste time thanking him. In a moment he was on his knees beside Sam, tearing at the plastic that was shrouded his features.

"Sam, Sam, hold on, just…gimme a minute…" Castiel wasn't sure he was even aware he was talking. His hands unable to find purchase on the plastic, he grabbed up the knife instead, stabbing right into Sam's lax mouth. There was blood, the cut too urgent to be careful, but Dean sawed relentlessly at the layers of the shroud, ripping away any he could grasp.

When Sam's face was clear, Dean rolled him onto his back and leaned in, listening for breath. Apparently he heard none because he quickly sealed his mouth around his brother's.

Castiel immediately saw the problem. The plastic was bound so tightly, Sam's chest was compressed. Even with his mouth and nose exposed, he would be unable to inhale. Castiel stepped up next to Dean and tilted down his sword.

He saw his friend notice the movement and visibly strain not to react at the blade approaching his brother. Castiel understood the extreme act of will, and trust, it took to let him slide the weapon down along Sam's body. The plastic parted beneath the angel blade, leaving skin intact…and chest soon heaving.

Sam lurched up in desperate coughs, arching away from the floor.

"Easy, you're out, you're good." Dean made quick work of the plastic still encircling the neck, then pulled his brother to him, Sam's chin landing on his shoulder. "Take it slow, Sammy."

Sam continued to cough and gasp even as Dean's hands pressed against his spine, his hair, the back of his neck, continuing to utter urgent words Castiel was not meant to hear.

Castiel retreated a few steps to the doorway of the room, offering them some privacy.

He was surprised when Dean pivoted, Sam still leaning against him, to catch Castiel's eyes. He nodded a thank you, face stark with relief. Then he was focused on his brother again.

A sigh seemed more than appropriate this time. Such foolish men these Winchesters could be. Surely they were the only ones who could not see how much the other meant to him, no matter what hurt and resentment lay between them. Castiel would not have needed any exposure to humans to discern it.

He waited in silence for Sam to recover and Dean to pull him to his feet. The two of them finally stepped back from each other and proceeded to stumble downstairs with only occasional contact to maintain balance, as if the last few minutes had not occurred.

Leaving Castiel behind with many bodies and even more bewilderment.

00000

Almost suffocating took a lot out of you. Sam knew this from years of experience.

Pride compelled him out of the car and into the room on his own power. It was only when he sank onto the bed that he saw Dean's struggle to stay back and not help: the hovering, the tightness around his eyes, the clench of his fists. And suddenly it all just seemed so pointless and exhausting, this _thing_ between them. He didn't have the energy or will anymore for it.

All it took was one naked look, and Dean stepped in. As he had Sam's whole life.

The next thing Sam knew, he was horizontal, boots and jacket slipped off. Even as his body trembled in the aftermath of a fight for life, blankets were pulled over him. It felt ridiculously good, physically and emotionally. This was what he'd grieved over the last year. This was what even Amelia hadn't been able to replace.

He fell asleep in the middle of Dean cleaning blood off his face.

His dreams were dark and unsurprising. Dean was yelling, and running, and there was a heavy pall of danger smothering them. Sam was trying to find something that eluded him. Castiel was talking to Bobby and not helping. Dean kept trying to tell Sam where _it_ was, but Sam couldn't reach him, couldn't hear. There was just the search, urgent and fruitless, and Dean murmuring…

"… _like that. Of_ course _I don't want him to spend the rest of his life looking. Just, you know, at least_ try _for a week or ten."_

" _How do you know he did not?"_ Huh, Cas must've stopped talking to Bobby.

" _He pretty much told me straight out. Didn't look, just took off."_ Funny, he could hear Dean clearly now, but…it wasn't about something they were looking for. The sense of danger had passed, too, giving way to a stiff, achy lethargy.

" _Why?"_

" _Come again?"_

 _"Why did he not look?"_

 _"He says we always promised we wouldn't."_

Wait…he was pretty sure he wasn't dreaming anymore. Not if that smell of lemon bleach against his nose was any indication.

 _"Did you?"_

 _"No! I mean, yeah, we said it, but we didn't really mean… Don't give me that look, Cas, you know what I mean."_

 _"So he should've searched for you, even if he believed you were dead and at peace, and he had nothing else left."_

 _"You and me both know dead don't mean peace. And how'd he know I was dead, anyway? He—"_

 _"—had just lost the person who meant the most to him, the only person he had left to call upon."_

Cas and Dean were arguing, about him. And as badly as he didn't want to hear this, Sam couldn't make himself interrupt Dean's rare openness.

" _I've been there, too, remember? I still looked for him—hell, I even got him back."_

 _"At the cost of your soul."_

 _"Not the point, man."_

 _"And were you alone then? Did you not have Bobby, or me, or Lisa and her son?"_

He strained to hear, but if Dean answered, it wasn't out loud.

 _"You missed Sam terribly in Purgatory."_

His throat tightened.

A weary sigh; he could picture Dean washing a hand down his face. _"Yeah. And I'm glad to be back, don't get me wrong. It just…it hurts sometimes, too, you know? I'm not sure he wants me back. And he's not even sorry."_

 _"Perhaps he doesn't feel the need to do penance. That doesn't mean he isn't relieved at your return."_

Dean mumbled something. Sam would've given his laptop to know what.

 _"I saw him when you were in Hell, Dean. He was lost. Do you really think this time was different?"_

No. It hadn't been.

But his sharp inhale had been overheard. The next thing he knew, Dean's hand was on his chest, feeling him breathe. "Sam? You with us?"

He opened watery eyes, blinking in the light. "'ean?" He didn't even need to fake the fatigue.

His brother was bending over him with a frown, nothing but concern in his expression. "Yeah. You breathing okay? Everything feel all right?"

It hadn't even occurred to him to check. He breathed in, out, coughed a little as it pulled on sore muscles, but, "Yeah. 'M good."

"You hungry? Got some soup I could warm up…"

He studied the face above him, looking for any signs of anger, resentment, mistrust. But he saw nothing but his big brother worried about him. "Water?" he said quietly.

"Yeah, sure." Dean helped him up enough to empty half a bottle, got him resettled. "It's, like, 3 am. Go back to sleep, dude."

"Okay," he mumbled, his eyes obeying in spite of him.

 _"You should sleep, too,"_ Cas spoke up. Sam had kinda forgotten he was there. _"I will sit and keep watch."_

 _"Yeah, no, that's creepy. Go…do some laps or something. I'll call you in the morning, okay?"_

A hesitation. _"All right."_ Cas sounded almost reluctant. _"Good-night, Dean. Sam."_ A flutter of wings announced his departure.

Dean muttered something else, patting Sam's chest again before he moved away. Then there were the sounds Sam had grown up with, of preparation for bed, the click of the light switch and creak of bed springs, the drawn-out exhale as Dean relaxed.

 _"G'night, Sammy."_

Sam turned, startled, but Dean's eyes were already closed. His whispered "Good-night" drew no response.

He'd known how Dean felt, but still. Hearing it, and the betrayal and hurt in the words, and how Dean had filled in the blanks of Sam's fragmented explanations, was still a painful jolt. He was grateful to Castiel for saying some of the things that he hadn't been able to. Maybe without hurt feelings in the way, the angel had seen what Dean had been unable to.

But he had gotten one thing wrong, Sam thought as he settled on his side facing his brother. He closed his prickling eyes.

Way down deep, he did feel the need for penance.

 **The End**


End file.
